"He thinks I ought to have given New Mexico a show."
"I want him to go straight out to my nephew at Santa Paz and stay
there till his next birthday." Mr. Lavington signed to the butler
to hand the terrapin to Mr. Grisben, who, as he took a second
helping, addressed himself again to Rainer. "Jim's in New York
now, and going back the day after to-morrow in Olyphant's private
car. I'll ask Olyphant to squeeze you in if you'll go. And when
you've been out there a week or two, in the saddle all day and
sleeping nine hours a night, I suspect you won't think much of the
doctor who prescribed New York."
Faxon spoke up, he knew not why. "I was out there once: it's a
splendid life. I saw a fellow--oh, a really BAD case--who'd been
simply made over by it."
"It DOES sound jolly," Rainer laughed, a sudden eagerness of
anticipation in his tone.
His uncle looked at him gently. "Perhaps Grisben's right. It's an
opportunity----"
Faxon looked up with a start: the figure dimly perceived in the
study was now more visibly and tangibly planted behind Mr.
Lavington's chair.
"That's right, Frank: you see your uncle approves. And the trip
out there with Olyphant isn't a thing to be missed. So drop a few
dozen dinners and be at the Grand Central the day after to-morrow
at five."
Mr. Grisben's pleasant gray eye sought corroboration of his host,
and Faxon, in a cold anguish of suspense, continued to watch him
as he turned his glance on Mr. Lavington. One could not look at
Lavington without seeing the presence at his back, and it was
clear that, the next minute, some change in Mr. Grisben's
expression must give his watcher a clue.
But Mr. Grisben's expression did not change: the gaze he fixed on
his host remained unperturbed, and the clue he gave was the
startling one of not seeming to see the other figure.
Faxon's first impulse was to look away, to look anywhere else, to
resort again to the champagne glass the watchful butler had
already brimmed; but some fatal attraction, at war in him with an
overwhelming physical resistance, held his eyes upon the spot they
feared.
The figure was still standing, more distinctly, and therefore more
resemblingly, at Mr. Lavington's back; and while the latter
continued to gaze affectionately at his nephew, his counterpart,
as before, fixed young Rainer with eyes of deadly menace.
Faxon, with what felt like an actual wrench of the muscles,
dragged his own eyes from the sight to scan the other countenances
about the table; but not one revealed the least consciousness of
what he saw, and a sense of mortal isolation sank upon him.
"It's worth considering, certainly----" he heard Mr. Lavington
continue; and as Rainer's face lit up, the face behind his uncle's
chair seemed to gather into its look all the fierce weariness of
old unsatisfied hates. That was the thing that, as the minutes
labored by, Faxon was becoming most conscious of. The watcher
behind the chair was no longer merely malevolent: he had grown
suddenly, unutterably tired. His hatred seemed to well up out of
the very depths of balked effort and thwarted hopes, and the fact
made him more pitiable, and yet more dire.
Faxon's look reverted to Mr. Lavington, as if to surprise in him a
corresponding change. At first none was visible: his pinched smile
was screwed to his blank face like a gas-light to a white-washed
wall. Then the fixity of the smile became ominous: Faxon saw that
its wearer was afraid to let it go. It was evident that Mr.
Lavington was unutterably tired too, and the discovery sent a
colder current through Faxon's veins. Looking down at his
untouched plate, he caught the soliciting twinkle of the champagne
glass; but the sight of the wine turned him sick.
"Well, we'll go into the details presently," he heard Mr.
Lavington say, still on the question of his nephew's future.
"Let's have a cigar first. No--not here, Peters." He turned his
smile on Faxon. "When we've had coffee I want to show you my
pictures."
"Oh, by the way, Uncle Jack--Mr. Faxon wants to know if you've got
a double?"
"A double?" Mr. Lavington, still smiling, continued to address
himself to his guest. "Not that I know of. Have you seen one, Mr.
Faxon?"
Faxon thought: "My God, if I look up now they'll BOTH be looking
at me!" To avoid raising his eyes he made as though to lift the
glass to his lips; but his hand sank inert, and he looked up. Mr.
Lavington's glance was politely bent on him, but with a loosening
of the strain about his heart he saw that the figure behind the
chair still kept its gaze on Rainer.
"Do you think you've seen my double, Mr. Faxon?"
Would the other face turn if he said yes? Faxon felt a dryness in
his throat. "No," he answered.
"Ah? It's possible I've a dozen. I believe I'm extremely usual-
looking," Mr. Lavington went on conversationally; and still the
other face watched Rainer.
"It was ... a mistake ... a confusion of memory ..." Faxon heard
himself stammer. Mr. Lavington pushed back his chair, and as he
did so Mr. Grisben suddenly leaned forward. "Lavington! What have
we been thinking of? We haven't drunk Frank's health!"
Mr. Lavington reseated himself. "My dear boy! ... Peters, another
bottle. ..." He turned to his nephew. "After such a sin of
omission I don't presume to propose the toast myself ... but Frank
knows. ... Go ahead, Grisben!"
The boy shone on his uncle. "No, no, Uncle Jack! Mr. Grisben won't
mind. Nobody but YOU--to-day!"
The butler was replenishing the glasses. He filled Mr. Lavington's
last, and Mr. Lavington put out his small hand to raise it. ... As
he did so, Faxon looked away.
"Well, then--All the good I've wished you in all the past years. ...
I put it into the prayer that the coming ones may be healthy
and happy and many ... and MANY, dear boy!"
Faxon saw the hands about him reach out for their glasses.
Automatically, he made the same gesture. His eyes were still on
the table, and he repeated to himself with a trembling vehemence:
"I won't look up! I won't .... I won't ...."
His fingers clasped the stem of the glass, and raised it to the
level of his lips. He saw the other hands making the same motion.
He heard Mr. Grisben's genial "Hear! Hear!" and Mr. Balch's hollow
echo. He said to himself, as the rim of the glass touched his
lips: "I won't look up! I swear I won't!--" and he looked.
The glass was so full that it required an extraordinary effort to
hold it there, brimming and suspended, during the awful interval
before he could trust his hand to lower it again, untouched, to
the table. It was this merciful preoccupation which saved him,
kept him from crying out, from losing his hold, from slipping down
into the bottomless blackness that gaped for him. As long as the
problem of the glass engaged him he felt able to keep his seat,
manage his muscles, fit unnoticeably into the group; but as the
glass touched the table his last link with safety snapped. He
stood up and dashed out of the room.